


The Modern Witcher's Approach To Chort Hunting

by Witcher_Trash_Party



Series: Witcher Trash Party [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Monsterfucker Jaskier | Dandelion, Other, Voyeurism, implied dub-con/coercion but can be also read as fully consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26931193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcher_Trash_Party/pseuds/Witcher_Trash_Party
Summary: The only worrying thing about chorts – that Jaskier should care about – is the fact that they are big. Not as huge as fiends, but still fairly big, and that means strong. But they don’t smell – well, not as much as ghouls do – and they don’t have scales, just thick skin, which shouldn’t hurt Jaskier as much. What’s more, they have absolutely ordinary cocks. No ridges, no bumps, no scales, no knots. Ordinary, but big, but Jaskier will be able to take it, no problem. He always takes it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/chort
Series: Witcher Trash Party [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990582
Comments: 8
Kudos: 296





	The Modern Witcher's Approach To Chort Hunting

Jaskier is taking a break between songs, lounging comfortably at a corner table of the inn, feet propped up on the table, a mug of ale in hand, when Geralt returns. “You usually don’t take as long stabling Roach,” the boy points out, and worry for the mare scrunches his eyebrows, “did something happen? Is everything okay?”

“Roach’s fine,” Geralt grunts. “I paid the alderman a visit.”

“Oh.” Jaskier visibly stiffens. His face turns a rather lovely shade of red. “Any work for us?” he asks at last. There’s badly-disguised anticipation in his voice.

Geralt can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips. He loves how embarrassed his little bard always gets. Loves how he enjoys it, but is too ashamed of the fact to admit it. “Hmm.”

“What… what is it?” Jaskier asks, face even redder. He sounds so eager it almost makes Geralt hard. “ _ Please _ don’t say ghoul, they smell  _ so _ bad – it takes a week to wash the smell off!” he whispers, “Or any draconid, really, the scales really hurt.”

It’s not that Jaskier is exaggerating – last time they were hunting a ghoul, Geralt could smell it on the boy for a week or so; and Jaskier’s back is still scraped and his insides a little tender from that wyvern four days ago. But Geralt knows that even if he says they are going to hunt a ghoul  _ and _ a draconid, Jaskier will help him, like the good boy he is. He always does, no matter the size, shape or the number of beasts they need to kill. He’s not afraid, not  _ really _ – he trusts Geralt's judgement. More than he should, even, but Geralt won’t complain, since there’s nothing better on the whole Continent than having Jaskier help him hunt monsters. “Relax,” he says, “it’s a chort.”

And really,  _ relax _ is not the word he’d usually use in connection with  _ chorts _ , but, well, he’s not using usual hunting methods. The only worrying thing about chorts – that Jaskier should care about – is the fact that they are big. Not as huge as fiends, but still fairly  _ big _ , and that means  _ strong _ . But they don’t smell – well, not as much as ghouls do – and they don’t have scales, just thick skin, which shouldn’t hurt Jaskier as much.

What’s more, they have absolutely ordinary cocks. No ridges, no bumps, no scales, no knots. Ordinary, but big, but Jaskier will be able to take it, no problem. He always takes it.

“Oh. Good to hear,” Jaskier says. He crosses his legs and takes a gulp of his ale. He must be remembering the last time they were hunting a chort. It was some time ago – back then it was the biggest thing he had taken, and he was  _ so _ scared – he was shaking and crying embarrassed tears as Geralt worked him open – smells of lust and fear coming off of him in waves as he, with every finger Geralt added, started to realize just what was coming for him – literally. And when he was kneeling there in the forest, face down, ass up, presenting himself, trying to muffle his desperate, nervous sounds in the meat of his arm as he waited. And the shout he gave when the head of the chort’s cock popped in… he meant to scream,  _ “Geralt!” _ but the second half of the word got lost in the pitiful moan that followed.

Now he says,  _ good to hear _ . Geralt has trained his boy well.

\----

Jaskier whines and moans as Geralt fingers him open. By the time Geralt has five fingers in him - chorts are big, afterall - his cock is steadily dripping precum on the forest floor. Geralt himself is hard in his leathers and he’d  _ love _ to shove his cock in Jaskier’s wet, gaping hole -- but there’s work to be done.

“You’re ready,” Geralt decides, patting Jaskier’s ass, watching him desperately clench around nothing.

Jaskier just keens and hides his face in his arm. The air around them is heavy with arousal and embarrassment - two of Geralt’s favourite things to smell on his boy - and if that weren’t enough, the tips of his ears are flushed red and his thighs are shaking.

Geralt gets the vial of chort pheromones from his bags. He smears it across Jaskier’s taint, around his red, puffy rim, and even dips two fingers into him, to make sure the chort plays nice with what Geralt’s offering him. “Good boy,” he tells Jaskier when he finishes, “you’ve been so good for me, Jask.”

He hides in nearby bushes - swords at the ready - and settles in to wait. He’s got a perfect view of Jaskier’s stretched-wide asshole, glistening with oil and pheromones alike, twitching as Jaskier fidgets in place. He’s  _ so _ impatient to get a monster cock in him, Geralt loves it. His perfect little bait-bitch.

The undergrowth on the other side of the clearing parts to reveal a chort’s horned head. It sniffs the air and scans Jaskier’s naked form with its three eyes - for a moment, Geralt is afraid the chort won’t accept his offering, will know that this is just a human - but then it stalks closer to Jaskier, smelling his backside. Jaskier trembles all over when the warm air the chort huffs out hits his wet hole and sensitive balls and Geralt has to squeeze his cock through his pants.

The chort’s massive cock is already out of its sheath, already excited from smelling the pheromones from far away - it’s red with blood, dripping watery pre… and beneath, the monster’s balls hang, heavy and hairy. Geralt can imagine Jaskier would lick his lips at the sight, the little cockslut.

The chort hovers above Jaskier, the bard way too small for it to mount him properly, and rubs its dick against Jaskier’s hole, trying to find purchase.

Jaskier gasps and pushes his hips back, wiggling his ass a bit this way, a bit that way - until the head of the chort’s cock catches on his rim and the head pops in.

The chort wastes no time, once it is in, and slams its hips forward, bottoming out in one single thrust. If asked, Geralt would say this is his favourite part - when Jaskier gets the first taste of that day’s cock and goes a little cross-eyed at the sensation, moaning like a five-crown whore, pain and pleasure both in that single sound. Sometimes, his eyes go wide when he realises he has bitten off more than he can reasonably chew, but he always takes it like a champ.

The chort starts fucking him, its pace merciless. Jaskier keeps making those tiny “ _ ah - ah - ah _ ” noises, punched out of him with every thrust, the chort battering away at his sore insides. Jaskier’s hole is stretched wide around the thick cock pounding into him - stretched even wider than five of Geralt’s thick fingers prepared him for.

Geralt unlaces his leathers and takes his hard prick in his hand. He strokes himself in time with the chort’s thrusts, watching as Jaskier squirms on that huge cock plowing him, as he mewls and yowls like a cat in heat, overwhelmed with pleasure, as his red cock swings flushed and forgotten between his legs, as the chort’s heavy balls slap loudly against the back of his thighs.

Jaskier screams and claws at grass and moss and dirt, his pathetic little prick twitching once and shooting his load on the ground in several spurts, milked out of him by the chort’s cock. The sight has Geralt tumbling over the edge sooner than he’s used to -- but it’s just so fucking  _ hot _ , especially when Jaskier just keeps on whining, his skin shiny with sweat, tears rolling down his cheeks, overstimulated - and yet the chort does not let up.

Geralt fixes his pants and readies his silver sword as the chort keeps chasing its release in Jaskier’s shaking body - until it finally stills and lets out a guttural groan as it fills the bard with its come.

Geralt doesn’t waste even a second. He pounces on the beast while it is still distracted, cutting it down quickly and without much effort. He turns to make sure no blood got on Jaskier - the boy hates that - and finds him breathing heavily, slumped over, face pressed into the ground, ass propped up - his hole hopelessly attempting to clench back up, thick chort cum leaking out of it, running down over his balls and dripping to the ground. He looks absolutely delicious.

Geralt kneels down next to him, one hand rubbing his back and the other sweeping up the monster’s spend and pushing it back into the bard.

“ _ Fuuuuck _ , Geralt,” Jaskier rasps, clenching down around Geralt’s fingers, trying to keep it inside just because Geralt wants it to be there. That kind of power is intoxicating.

“You did so well,” Geralt says. “You did so well, you perfect little chort bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as [@witchertrashparty](https://witchertrashparty.tumblr.com/) \- I'm open to receive prompts or just chat about filth >:3


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